Holiday House Parties (16 page)

Two minutes later Miles stood before her. He was somewhat disheveled, his thick, graying hair tousled, his brows knit, and his lips tight. The lines around his mouth seemed to be etched more deeply than before, and there were circles under his eyes. The man looked as if he hadn't slept for days. It was true, then, as her mother had hinted, that he'd stayed awake during all the hours she'd been sleeping, worrying about her. How kind of him! He was such a loyal friend; he did not deserve to be used as she'd used him.

She managed a hesitant smile. “Hello, Miles,” she said softly.

He did not smile back, but his eyes made a close examination of her face. “So you
are
better,” he said gruffly. “You almost look like your old self. I'm much relieved.”

“Thank you. You are kind to be concerned.”

“I am not kind,” he declared, coming to the foot of the bed and glaring down at her. “Now that I see you almost restored to health, I would like very much to wring your
neck
! Whatever did you mean by making Julian believe you and I are secret lovers?”

Elinor swallowed. “I must say, Miles, you don't mince words. Are you very angry?”

“That depends. Why did you do it?”

“I don't quite know. I had to conjure up a beau to convince Julian to agree to break our troth, and your name was the first to come to my mind.” She twisted the edge of her blanket with nervous fingers. “Did you tell him it was a lie?”

“No. Since you are not usually given to falsehoods, I knew you must have had a reason, so I waited to speak to you.” He walked slowly round to her side and looked down at her. “Why did you wish to break your troth, Elinor? Don't you care for Julian anymore?”

“He doesn't care for
me
. I've grown too old for him.”

“
Old
? What utter balderdash!” His eyes darkened in fury. “Did he
say
that?”

“Almost in those words. He's taken with Felicia, you see, who seems to him a younger version of the girl I once was. But his sense of honor made him unwilling to accept the freedom I offered him, so, to relieve his guilt, I said I loved another.”

“Me.”

“Yes.”

“I see.” He turned to the fireplace and stared down at the glowing coals. “He must have found that a ludicrous choice for you to make,” he remarked dryly.

“Why ludicrous?”

“I'm too old for you, for one thing. You've always thought of me as an uncle.”

“You're only thirty-six, Miles. Not quite an ancient.”

“Thirty-seven. And much too old to enjoy this sort of game.” He punctuated his statement by kicking angrily at the coals with the toe of his boot, sending up a shower of sparks.

Elinor felt her throat tighten with tears. “I'm s-sorry, Miles. I was very … foolish.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “very.” With an effort he turned away from the fire and came back to her bedside. He stood silent for a moment, looking down at her. Then, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if massaging away a headache, he sighed deeply. “I'd prefer it, Elinor, if the fellow knew the truth. With your permission I'll tell him this afternoon.”

“Yes, of course,” she said in a small voice. “If you must.”

“Of course I must,” he snapped, suddenly angry. “What else is there to do?”

“There
is
another option.”

“What option?”

She lowered her head. “I'm afraid to suggest it to you.”

“Have I suddenly become an ogre? Suggest it!”

She eyed him with wary unease. There followed an awkward pause. At last she said hesitantly, “We could keep up the pretense.”

His black eyebrows rose. “You can't mean it! What on earth for?”

She looked down at the bit of blanket she was twisting between her fingers. “I'm afraid Julian may insist on wedding me after all, if he believes me to be … unattached.”

“What's
wrong
with his wedding you? Didn't you say, not a moment ago, that you still care for the deuced dunderhead?”

“Not enough to wish to wed him if he feels reluctant.”

“
Damn
his reluctance!” Miles stomped back and forth across the room to ease his disgust. “And as for you,” he growled, turning on her, “you are speaking sentimental claptrap. If you care for him, marry him! No man with a grain of sense could fail to see what a prize you are. The fellow's a gudgeon, but not such a gudgeon that he wouldn't think himself the luckiest man alive after a mere month … a
week
—no, a
day
!—of being wedded to you.”

“Oh,
Miles
!” His words took her breath away. For a moment she gazed up at him awestruck. Then, afraid to take him too seriously, she lowered her lids and smiled wryly. “Spoken like the fond uncle you are,” she said lightly. “It's too bad Julian can't look at me with an uncle's eyes.”

“I wish you'd remember, Elinor Selby,” Miles snarled, “that
I'm
not your uncle,
either
.”

“Nevertheless, Miles, since Julian does not see me in that way, I'd rather
not
wed him.” She sat erect and peered at the stern-faced squire curiously. “Would it be so hard to pretend to be in love with me? It would only be for a few days.”

“Hard?” His dark eyes glittered in sardonic amusement. “No, my dear, not hard.
Impossible
.”

His tone, self-deprecating and bitter, confused her. “But why?”

“Why?
Why
?” He laughed and shook his head. “Can you truly be so damnably, naively blind?
This
is why!” And he reached down, pulled her up on her knees, and into his arms.

To her complete astonishment she found herself being passionately kissed. Her bewilderment was so encompassing that it utterly froze her thoughts. She could only
feel—
the bruising pressure of his lips, the grip of his arms against her back, the pinching pain on her breasts of the buttons of his coat. That was all she was conscious of. Yet she had a sense that there was more to her feelings than the pressure of buttons—that there were stirrings so deep inside her she could not for the moment fathom them. But before she could begin to get hold of herself, before she could even make herself
think
, he lifted his head. “There!” he muttered. “I've wanted to do that for years.”

“Miles,”
she gasped, still befuddled, “you'll catch my
cold
!”

He burst into a startled laugh. Then, eyeing her as if he didn't know quite what to do with her, he shook his head, swore “Damnation!” and kissed her again.

Though still astonished, Elinor's brain came whirling to life. What was the meaning of this? it asked her. And why was her pulse pounding so hard in her ears? Moreover, a stern voice at the back of her mind demanded to know if she realized that she was wearing nothing but a thin shift … that, while almost naked, she was being enveloped in a man's arms and not doing a thing to drive him off?

As if he'd heard the same question, he let her go. They stared at each other for a moment, catching their breaths. Then Elinor, without taking her wide-eyed gaze from his face, slipped down under her blankets and drew them up to her neck. “Good God!” she breathed in a hoarse whisper.

“I'm
not
going to apologize,” Miles said in his normal, reproving voice. “You deserved that.”

“I
did
?”

“Yes. For your willful ignorance.”

“My ignorance was not willful,” she retorted. “And I'm still ignorant. What did you
mean
by that, pray?”

“If you can't guess, I shan't tell you. However, I admit that I played the fool just now. You have my word I won't do so again.” Without further ado, he strode out the door and slammed it behind him.

Elinor lay against the pillows, staring at the door, the fingers of one hand pressed against her mouth (where she could still feel the pressure of his lips) and the other against her breast (where she could still feel the mark of his buttons). The message he'd given her was quite clear: He loved her. Miles Endicott loved her! Miles, the squire of the neighborhood, to whom everyone for miles around turned for advice or assistance when in trouble. But the idea was impossible. Ridiculous. He
couldn't
really love her! He was the kindest, wisest, most generous man in the world, and in recent years he'd been, even more than her mother, the person to whom she'd confided her feelings. In truth, he was her best friend. But he'd always kept an avuncular distance between them. She'd always thought of him as a superior being, too superior even to be
considered
as a suitor. Above her touch, as a Londoner might put it. The idea that he could love her was too flattering to be believed!

She slipped out of bed and pattered barefoot across the floor to her dressing table. Sitting down, she peered at her face in the glass. Was this the face that Miles Endicott loved? Her cheeks were flushed, though not from fever, her eyes were shining, her tousled hair seemed electrically alive, and her lips were full and red from their bruising. Heavens, she thought, amazed, can it be that there is something beautiful about me after all?

There was a tap at the door. Her mother was back with the soup, she thought. “Come in, Mama,” she said.

“It's not Mama,” Miles said, coming in.

She wheeled around. “M-Miles!”

“I've changed my mind,” he said. “I'll do it.”

She gaped at him stupidly. “Do it?”

“I'll act the lover role for you. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

8

Being forced to remain in bed was not as unpleasant as Elinor thought. Everyone in the household paid her a visit that afternoon, even the Fordyce children (who were permitted to stand just inside the door to express their good wishes, but who'd been warned not to step too far into the “sick room”). Then, in the evening, each of the adults called on her again just before dinner, some to show off their evening clothes, some to cheer her up for having to miss the lighting of the yule log, and all to wish her a joyous Noel. Felicia, looking particularly charming in a red Chinese silk round gown, hugged her and said with tremulous sincerity that she missed Elinor's company and that her absence from the festivities was felt by everyone. Then Julian (breathtakingly handsome in his formal attire) came in with an armload of winter mums that he'd gone all the way to Harrowgate to procure. He must have found her appearance much improved, for his eyes lit up at the sight of her, and he repeated so often how remarkably well she was looking that she almost believed he meant it. Staying abed was turning out to be not unpleasant at all.

It was not until later that night, when she heard the sound of the carriages arriving at the front door to take the assemblage off to the midnight service at St. Michael's in Leyburn, that Elinor began to feel lonely. Going to the midnight service was a family tradition; this was the first time ever that she would miss it. She ran to her south window, the one that overlooked the drive, and watched the guests as they gathered round the carriages. Since the conveyances only sat four, two were required for the trip. The Earl and Lady Lovebourne with their son and Felicia headed toward the first carriage, and Henry and Fanny Fordyce with their hostess, Martha Selby, meandered toward the second. Only Miles Endicott was missing from the group. Elinor wondered where he could be; he'd always gone to the Christmas midnight service in their company in former years.

The night was cold, and the travelers' cloaks and greatcoats flapped in the wind as they climbed into the carriages, but they all seemed to be laughing merrily. The only one of the group not smiling was Elinor's mother, who at that moment, remembering her daughter alone upstairs in her bedroom, looked up at the window where Elinor stood watching. Elinor saw her mother pause on the coach step and wave. “Go back to bed!” Martha mouthed.

“Yes, Mama.” Elinor sighed and turned away to do her mother's bidding. She lay abed listening to the laughter, to the clunk of the coach doors closing, to the shouts of the coachmen starting up the horses, and to the crunch of the coach wheels on the gravel. But the noises of departure soon faded away. The only sound remaining was the howling wind, a gloomy whine that made the house seem suddenly very, very still. It's not fair, she thought. No one should have to be alone on Christmas Eve.

She shivered, sighed more deeply than before, and was just about to succumb to a few tears of self-pity when there was a tap at the door. “Yes?” she asked, surprised.

Miles poked his head in. “May I come in?”

“Miles!” Elinor's spirits lifted at once. “Of course. Why aren't you with the others, on the way to St. Michael's?”

He stepped over the threshold. “If I'm to play your lover, ma'am, I may as well do a good job of it. I'd be a poor sort of lover, wouldn't I, if I went off with the crowd while my beloved lay imprisoned in her room all alone on Christmas Eve?”

“I suppose you would,” Elinor answered, touched.

“Of course I would. So I made my excuses to your mother and her guests, and here I am.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” she murmured, torn between feelings of gratitude for having found a companion for Christmas Eve and feelings of embarrassment at the close presence of the man who'd kissed her a few short hours ago—shocking behavior that neither of them would easily forget.

“Nothing thoughtful about it,” Miles said casually as he crossed the room to poke up the fire. “And I needn't stay, if you'd prefer going to sleep to making conversation. My mission was accomplished merely by dropping out of the party.”

“Of course I wish you to stay.” She kept her voice as calm and steady as his. If he could be casual, so could she. “How could you believe I would rather sleep than converse with you? Pull up the rocking chair and sit near me. But what do you mean by your ‘mission'?”